


We Are All Made Out of Shipwrecks

by wearenotsaints



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcoholism, Angst, Drug Addiction, Harry has a spiritual disease, Hurt/Comfort, Liam has a hero complex, Louis isn't particularly sassy, M/M, Niall's gone through this before, Zayn chain smokes like me, what do you say when someone you love is killing themselves?, you let them know they have a choice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 19:57:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearenotsaints/pseuds/wearenotsaints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>And fold our lives like crashing waves and run upon this beach</i><br/>Come on and sew us together, we're just some tattered rags stained forever.<br/>We only have what we remember.<br/><br/>Or the one where Harry tries to drink and use himself to death yet doesn't quite succeed, and everyone has something to say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Are All Made Out of Shipwrecks

**Author's Note:**

> Title and italic summary bits taken from Wooden Heart by Listener.

Liam stares resolutely ahead, fingers digging into the rough denim covering his knees. The private waiting room chairs are stiff and unforgiving, cutting into the straight line of his spine. To his left he can hear Niall's quiet hiccups. He's been crying off and on since they got the call. Liam isn't sure when he stopped being able to console the blonde. Figures it makes him selfish in all the wrong ways.

Yet another thing to add to the list of his fallacies.

Zayn's nowhere to be found, but Liam imagines he's out smoking in the ambulance bay. Wonders how many packs he's gone through in the last six hours. Grimaces at the thought of how well the Bradford boy had been doing with cutting back.

All that's been shot straight to hell.

Louis paces the floor in front of them. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth till Liam wants to scream at him to stop. That if he keeps it up, he'll wear a hole right through the linoleum veneer. But Liam's voice feels lodged in his throat; swollen from the lack of use and his fear. He knows Louis is the last person he has a right to say anything to; consoling or otherwise.

It's not his place. Not his. Not his. **Not. His.** And the mantra sits heavy in the center of his chest. A constant reminder of how he's failed. How he's always failed when what matters most is on the line.

_Harry._

Liam can field press and talk to management and put on a smile and look pretty. He can tuck Niall into his side when the media or fans are crushing in. He can buy Zayn comic books to read under the table at press junkets. He can be the butt of Louis' never ending jokes. He can match harmonies with Harry to the T.

But he can't save them from _this_.

He can't shield them in the only way that would count and he _**hates**_ himself for it. Curls his fingertips into his palms and wishes to draw blood. Crave it like he figures Harry craved the smoke and the needles infecting his veins and turning him to less than human. Or maybe closer to it. Liam doesn't know.

And it's the not knowing that's driving him insane.

He's not sure when the four of them stopped being enough. When their youngest member started looking for pieces of himself in the places they weren't. Liam had always doubted Harry's allegiance to Nick. Whose too old and too in your face and too rough around the edges. Liam could always see the feral glint in the disk jockey's eyes when he looked at the curly haired boy; felt the hairs on the back of his neck prick when Nick reached out to touch.

Harry was too young, too trusting, not to end up in deeper water. Liam just never thought Harry'd shed his life jacket when he got there.

+

The hospital was only letting family in to see Harry at this point.

"Policy." The nurse had said, the corners of her mouth turned down, the crinkles at her eyes suggesting an apology.

"The fuck makes you think we aren't family?" Zayn had growled and Liam had hauled him away by the elbow. Shoved Zayn towards the doors and ordered him to smoke it off before collapsing in a chair, Niall small by his side.

Louis had started howling when Gemma and Anne arrived--had spared them no more than matching terrified looks before disappearing through the ICU double doors--deep, gut wrenching sobs that set Liam's teeth on edge. The raw, animalistic agony tearing itself from Louis' throat, as though it would kill him.

A harried looking doctor offered a sedative, Niall began to cry again and Zayn appeared in the doorway, Paul behind him.

Liam hadn't been able to move.

Merely watched Louis crumple to the floor, body sagging beneath the outpour of his emotions. Louis' always felt too hard and too fast, too much and with _such_ conviction. It had always scared Liam, now it just flat out **terrified** him.

Paul moved first; faithful, 'stand in papa' Paul; with his lilting accent and meaty hands. He scooped Louis up as if he were nothing more than one of their duffle bags. Cradled him in the safety of his arms and Liam found that he was jealous. Of Louis or Paul, he wasn't sure. Just felt hallowed out and cast aside. Pressed his cheek hard into the jut of his shoulder to stem the ache blooming behind his ribcage.

Liam still hadn't cried.

Wasn't willing to do something he'd always been told was weak. That'd been reaffirmed by boys in a school yard and a culture stretched back to primitive times.

_"Don't show them your vulnerable side. Don't let them get a clean hit when you can prevent it."_

There's the press of a palm to the prominent line of his shoulder blade. Hackles raised like a cat. Defensive self preservation in tact and Liam flinches in spite of himself. The touch gets heavier, fingers splayed out over his bones and when Liam looks over,

Niall's studying him. All red rimmed lids and snot smeared across his cheek.

Liam thinks he's never looked more beautiful.

"Where are ya then?" Niall asks, fingers flexing, voice scratched and hoarse. Cerulean irises emphasized by the red veins in the usual whites of his eyes, "Cause it sure as fuck ain't 'ere."

Liam wants to pull away, stand up and walk out. Leave and never look back. He'll do what Orpheus couldn't. Will find them in a row behind him when they've safely reached the sunlight. Left the Underworld far behind.

Liam closes his eyes so Niall can't read him so easy.

"No one blames you," Niall whispers. Voice a hot wash against the stubble shadowing Liam's jaw. Liam squeezes his eyes shut even tighter, until there are sparks of red and white going off behind his lids. Niall's always seemed too carefree, too bright, too laid back to hold the depth he does. Liam wants to ask when he started to grow up. When any of them did. But he's afraid of what the answer might be.

What if he's the only one of them who hasn't?

Liam blanches, brings his hand up quick to cover the one Niall's kept on him. An anchor in the sudden sea the waiting room has become. Harry's not the only one who knows how to drown.

"I do," Liam mutters, knuckles white like bleached bone, "I do," he repeats and Niall doesn't say anything. Just hooks his legs over Liam's thighs. The _"I know"_ and _"You don't have to"_ there in the curve of his knees and the heat of his skin.

+

Gemma finds them curled together, Liam's neck craned awkwardly to rest his head atop Niall's; asleep with mouths partially open. The hum of florescent lights and bubbles from the water cooler in the corner the only steady sound. Two out of five, huddled small, _so small_ , within the four walls where people come to try and survive. Where they can sometimes only die. The automatic doors slide open with a quiet whine and then there's three of the five.

Zayn, who is all smooth carmel skin and sharp cheek bones, ink stained fingertips and cigarette smoke. Zayn, with his long, long eyelashes and honey colored eyes, is so beautiful that it **hurts**. Gemma remembers how Harry told her once that looking at Zayn head on was like a Greek tragedy personified.

She thinks she can understand that now.

Observing him watching her take in the intertwined forms of his bandmates between them, she notices the way his features soften and blur, the sag of his shoulders within his leather jacket. Sees how young he truly is underneath the tattoos and facial hair; how he's just as scared as the rest of them. Gemma feels something clawing up the back of her throat. Fighting to be known over the fear and anger that's wrapped her in their twin embrace. She can't put a name to it, only wants it gone before it envelopes her whole.

"He's awake," she chokes out, spits it at the three of them like a bullet. But still, there's no relief. "He's asking for you." And she doesn't think she needs to specify. Because they are him and he is them and Gemma's not sure she'll ever understand. Zayn nods, once, and then he's moving. In the time it takes Gemma to blink, he's woken Liam and Niall, and crossed the tile floor to stand beside her, the others at his back. Gemma tucks a strand of hair fallen from the loose knot of her bun behind her ear and nods. Blinks again when the image of the three boys in front of her starts to melt at the edges. Sees them burned like an afterimage on her retinas and swallows hard. Can't get her mouth working enough to tell them Louis' already in Harry's room; the other two fifths waiting on these three to make them complete. Wants instead to ask how they can live like magnets. Ask if it eases the pain of living; of breathing in this world at all. 

She thinks she knows the answer. 

Gemma, who only knew how to try at being a daughter and an older sister to a brother who aged too quickly and talked too slow. Who used to think she'd hung the stars until he met four other lads that took her place. Gemma's always only wanted the best for her baby brother. Knew he had it in him to be **something more** , something bigger than the world she lived in; than the one they occupied together.

She's not sure if she regrets that impulse now.

Decides to take her brother's bandmates to him instead of looking at it too closely. 

+ 

Tall, gangly Harry seems dwarfed within the swath of sterile white sheets on his hospital bed. Small and fragile, with all the IV tubes in his arms and machines beeping by his head; Louis clutching his hand fiercely-- _possessively_ \--from his bedside chair. Louis, who has tears dripping down his cheeks and wobbling on the end of his chin while he tries to cry without making a sound. 

Gemma left them to find her mother in the cafeteria; to try and force her to eat something after listening to doctor after doctor, and waiting for her youngest child to wake up. Waiting to feel something other than the sheer terror that seems to have embedded itself in her bones.

Niall is familiar with the feeling. 

Can remember the summer he was 13 and Greg's best mate, Tommy, died of a heroin overdose. The way he could do nothing but watch his brother search for answers in the bottom of a glass; keep it full with a bottle that was never too far away. For six months Niall felt helpless and tiny, walked around on eggshells and tried his hardest not to make a sound. Greg just wasn't **Greg** and Niall'd been sure his brother would remain the sad, angry stranger he'd become in grief and mourning.

Niall hadn't been willing to accept that. 

So twice a week, Niall sat in the basement of their family's church and listened to other kids his age share about how they dealt with the drinkers in their lives. Got himself a sponsor and worked the 12 steps of Al-Anon. Learned how to detach from his older brother with love; to remember that Greg had a disease and was just as powerless over alcohol as Niall was. Niall kept going even when Greg got sober in AA, two years after Tommy's death. Kept going after the relationship he'd figured would always remain shattered, had stitched itself back together. Keeps going even now because he can't picture his life without it anymore. Is so fucking _grateful_ for it. 

Especially right now. 

When one of his best friends--a boy he loves. A boy that fits into a specific slot in one of the four sections Niall's heart has been divided into--seems so hell bent on killing himself and Niall keeps flashing back to being 13 and hiding under the kitchen table while Greg breaks all the dishes in the cabinet. Because alcohol and drugs turn the people you love into people you can no longer recognize and Niall hasn't recognized Harry for _months_.

Has wanted nothing but to fix him and been far too familiar with the knowledge that he _can't_.

So Niall tried with Liam instead.

Liam, who is too strong willed, too sensible, too hard on himself to remember that he doesn't actually wear a cape and mask. That the only person expecting Liam to save the day is Liam himself.

Liam, who can't seem to make his feet move over to the hospital bed where Zayn has curled up by their youngest member's feet and grips hard at Harry's ankle, like he's afraid he'll bolt if he doesn't tether him down. To the hospital bed where Harry watches Liam in the doorway with weary green eyes, with dark circles--the color of bruised purple--ringed below them. Harry says nothing and Liam doesn't either, so Niall gives him a little push. Watches Liam stumble further into the room until he's up against the bed's railing, looking down at Harry with such an anguished expression that Niall almost second guesses his decision. Until Harry reaches out a trembling hand, all terribly thin and oh so pale, and rests it against Liam's cheek.  
And Niall watches as Liam _finally_ breaks.

How Liam wilts against the railing and into Harry's touch and _sobs_. How he scrambles to reach back at Zayn when the dark haired boy twines their fingers together. Liam's got his face buried in the sheets when Louis fists a handful of his hair and pulls his head back up to where the four of them can see him. And Louis' got his gazed locked on Harry, as if to say  
" **This. _This_ is what you've reduced us to**."

  
Harry nods, tears streaking his own face, and tells them he's sorry. For the thousandth time, how _sorry_ he is. He blabbers on so much that it's Niall whose forced to shut him up with a kiss. Is the one to pull back and say what they've all been thinking for ages now.

"They don't mean anythin' less you're gonna stop doin' what yer sorry for. We've heard enough sorrys. Time to do somethin' different, Haz."

And this time, when Harry gulps and nods again--shuts his mouth against the meaningless apologies--Niall thinks they can believe that he means it.

That Harry's _finally_ ready to give it up.

To turn his life over to something that **isn't him**. 

+

It doesn't happen overnight and, at times, it's almost as painful as watching him get loaded, but eventually, slowly,

Harry gets sober.

Harry gets happy.

Harry _comes back_.

+

And they get to be five out of five again.

+

**Author's Note:**

> I've lost a lot of people to alcoholism and drug addiction; including myself. Alcoholics Anonymous and Al-Anon are the reason I'm still on this planet at all. And I'm so fucking grateful. If you or someone you know is struggling, you are **not** alone. Ever.  
>  <3


End file.
